


Fulmination

by IWrteFicNotTragedies



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Plotty, Superhero!Will, Villain!Nico
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWrteFicNotTragedies/pseuds/IWrteFicNotTragedies
Summary: Will is a part of the city’s elite force of superheroes and he’s only one who can defeat The Wraith, a fearsome entity born of shadows and violence. (But recently, Will is starting to think that maybe The Wraith isn’t the villain he seems to be.)





	1. Chapter 1

Will had seen him plenty of times before: snarling and lashing out mindlessly at everything in his path, whirling a pitch-black sword in an almost hypnotic dance, slashing and destroying and screaming in rage. He’d faced that rage himself: the cold, black eyes, the whips of seething black, the starkness of his pale skin. As a healer, Will could tell there was something _wrong_ about him, or maybe ‘wrong’ wasn’t the right word, but he didn’t know what would be. The first time he’d seen The Wraith was years and years and years ago, billowing into existence over his sister’s cold body to scream and tear at his hair and grieve. He’d known, even then, when they were barely eight years old, that he should be afraid of him.

None of that had prepared Will to see him this close, though; thoughtfully pacing around the chair Will was tied to, fingers dragging a line over his skin and the tattered remains of his suit from his left shoulder, across his back, following the line of Will’s freckles from one shoulder to the next and then drifting lazily across his collarbones until he could start the process over again. The Wraith made several rounds before he stopped behind Will, hand splayed between his shoulder blades. His touch sent a chill up Will’s spine.

“Lumine, is it?” His voice was not what Will would have expected (cold, unfeeling, maybe even gravelly). It was quiet and thoughtful with an underlying accent, echoing his deliberate movement in every way. Somehow, now that he’d heard it, Will couldn’t imagine it any other way.

“That’s the most popular title I’m known by,” Will answered, and The Wraith’s hand dropped away from his skin.

There was something unsettling about having no proof that he was standing there except for the knowledge that he had been before. Will couldn’t even detect the sound of The Wraith’s breaths. Several long moments passed, to the point where Will assumed that he must have left, and then, “But you have a life outside of this one?”

Will started despite himself and tightened his grip on the armrests at the thought of his friends and family back home and The Wraith finding them, “What is it to you?”

The Wraith chuckled, and it wasn’t a low, chilling sound like his father’s, but something much more soft and _human_ that caught Will off guard. If he didn’t know him for who he really was, Will might have been tempted to like him. “I’m just making conversation, Lumine.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Another long, dragging silence. Will wondered if The Wraith was trying to unsettle him, or if he was simply thinking. His next statement, or rather, the tone of his voice, made Will decide on the latter.

“I don’t.”

It was so quiet that Will thought he might have imagined it. “What?”

There was a low noise, almost like the sound of wind wailing through the bows of a tree, and The Wraith materialized in front of him one bit at a time: first his mouth, permanently bent into a frown, then his eyes barely a moment afterward, pitch black like a demon’s and framed with thick, long eyelashes. It took Will a second to realize that they were not hanging in the air alone, but that the rest of him was just barely there, slowly solidifying into something tangible, starting at his feet and working its way up.

“Too much effort to walk around the chair another time?” Will asked drily, and The Wraith’s lips pulled themselves upward at the corners. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled and it would have been charming if they weren’t the color of tar.

“It’s more fun this way.”

Will blew out a huffing breath, “I’ll bet,” he answered, eyes fastened on the black, swirling lines that fled across The Wraith’s skin. He hadn’t ever noticed them before this; The Wraith’s suit usually hid them and when he’d caught traces of them dancing over his cheeks, he’d mistaken them for the deadly shadow whips that he used when fighting. But now The Wraith was clad in only a pair of low-slung sweatpants (another thing that had completely caught Will off guard–- it was too casual, too comfortable) and Will could clearly see the markings. They were like tattoos that had been brought to life and they never seemed to sit still.

A line fled across The Wraith’s chest, briefly stitching out his pulse when it crossed over his heart, and then disappeared, probably flowing over his back, tracing out patterns across his spine, before coming back into view on his right shoulder, winding down his arm in the shape of a viper, and exploding into five different lines that painted pretty pictures on his fingers. And there were countless other ones, all of them racing and darting and combusting. A flower bloomed on his temple, a gory cut opened up on his abdomen and gushed black blood, lines extended his smile, widening it into something vicious and shark-like and then melting into a soft, teasing grin before dripping away like a painting that had been suddenly splashed with water. A lizard darted across his collarbone, froze, and exploded into a complicated, breath-taking design. They never stopped, just like blood never stops running through your veins, but they were constantly changing into something new, always running across different paths. It was captivating.

The Wraith tilted his head and a few inky strands of hair fell over his forehead at the same moment his real smile faltered and died and his fingers went limp at his sides. Will was struck, suddenly, by how delicate his features were and how cruel and twisted they had always seemed before, awash in blood and haze and the grime of battle. He wondered if he looked that way as well, caught up in the middle of a fight.

“I meant that I don’t… have a life outside of this.” Emotion flickered over his face and made his features tighten up, claw marks were appearing over his chest, rough and violent and careless.

Will almost laughed, “And?”

The Wraith’s head snapped sideways, almost like he’d been slapped. The shame was evident in features, but he didn’t blush, Will wondered if he could. A phantom teardrop rolled down his cheek and splashed against the edge of his jawline. There, a seedling sprang to life and grew until it bloomed into a gorgeous flower like a time-lapse video. It wilted and died and the lines fled off in opposite directions, some across his lips and the others following his jawline to the base of his skull.

“I suppose…” he whispered, fingers skittering against his hair nervously, but he never finished the thought. And then he was taking a step forward, features smoothing out, expression closing off, bare feet carrying him soundlessly across the deep grey tile. As he moved, lines broke free of his skin, lashing against the air feebly, reminding Will that the boy before him was a destroyer.

Will thrashed against his restraints, flinching when fingers fluttered down to brush against his wrist. “Don’t waste your energy, Lumine.” He couldn’t figure out if it was meant to be a mockery or a kindness.

“There’s a reason you’re here. My father…” His voice did something strange to the word, made it sound forced and impersonal like it never should. The Wraith was tapping his fingers against the back of the chair; Will could hear it, almost like the pattering of rain. “Right now, while you sit here, Lumine, time is still ticking away in the rest of the world. You probably realize that. You probably _didn’t_ realize that you were only unconscious for a total of ten minutes and your friends are still out there, fighting the same battle that we plucked you from.” At this, Will gave another violent jerk, teeth gnashing and muscles convulsing and tightening. The bonds were draining him, pulling his power from him somehow. The Wraith kept talking, “Honestly, I don’t see the point. I don’t see-–” His words were cut off then, almost like his voice had been snatched from him suddenly. He sounded strangled.

His voice was right next to Will’s ear when he next spoke and it was quiet and raw and the desperation in it didn’t make sense, must have been imagined. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Will laughed and it was cold and humorless. Less human than The Wraith’s had been moments ago. “Do I have a choice?”

It was even less real than the one he let out now, breathed right into his ear, “I guess not.”

There was that low, whistling noise again and Will knew what it meant now, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when a pale face was suddenly barely inches from his own, hands braced over his on the armrests, but Will flinched backward anyway. And then he froze and stared, mouth hanging open, because the cold blackness of his eyes was seeping away slowly, pouring into his cheeks (it almost looked like he was crying) and revealing white and then the very edge of a brown iris. It only continued as he spoke, making him look more human, more broken down, more haunted, then Will had ever thought he could be, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Then the world combusted around them.

The floor exploded first, and then the markings covering The Wraith; they all burst and swirled, becoming frantic, horrific things. Will saw it in slow motion, skeletal hands bursting from below, catching and yanking, The Wraith’s eyes blown open wide, mouth letting out a silent scream. His fingernails left shallow, bloody trails on the backs of Will’s hands as he was yanked backward. The air shattered next, into the sound of a voice, roaring in rage and another screaming for mercy. Will wasn’t sure if it was his or The Wraith’s, or maybe both, because his consciousness was the last thing to combust, leaving only blackness and a high whine in his ears.

-

Will woke up in a dizzy haze out in the middle of nowhere, and after that, he couldn’t stop seeing a pair of brown eyes, skin painted with swirling lines, couldn’t stop reliving the moment over and over, seeing the terror written all over his face all over again. He couldn’t stop hearing, _I don’t want to hurt you,_ not an apology, but a confession.

The others didn’t think anything of it. They hadn’t been there.

There were images in his head that he couldn’t decide to be reality or dream-things: laying on the floor, casually tossed aside like a dirty pair of socks, a voice that was quiet and rage-filled and chilling, _(Nico, this isn’t some sort of_ game, _you can’t just…),_ a hand pressed against his forehead, another voice whispering something he couldn’t make out, a sharp, stinging pain that made him jerk. Will didn’t tell anyone about them because he didn’t know how they could possibly be important.

He didn’t know why he was still alive. Not because of The Wraith, but because of whatever had come at that last clear second.

When they next saw each other again, it was on the west side of Manhattan and he couldn’t help but be startled by the stark blackness of his eyes. Now that he’d seen their real color, it just seemed so _wrong._

The Wraith didn’t even acknowledge him. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, some sort of mercy?

Seeing him like this again, sneer cutting his face in half, shadows snaking out and slashing and whipping and snatching, blade whirling; it was all he needed to snap him back into reality. This was a _murderer,_ a _destroyer,_ not someone who deserved his pity.

Will lifted his hands and pulled the light in and towards him, making it almost a living, breathing thing. The Wraith was distracted, attention focused, not on him, but on the rest of supers that were there, darting around him, slashing, ducking.

Percy was throwing everything he had at him, pulling water from the Hudson and launching waves over him, hoping to knock him off balance, hurtling in like a hurricane. It took Will a moment to realize that he _was_ a hurricane, the eye of the storm, and it was building and building around him, stronger and stronger with each expert whirl of his blade. But Will knew that it wouldn’t do much. When has water ever been able to stop a shadow from being cast? Nico just looked _softer_ somehow, the way shadows do at the bottom of a pool or against sand under waves.

Somewhere, Annabeth was crouched, using her powers at a distance where she could focus more. Will could tell because The Wraith’s eyebrows would scrunch in confusion and then he would stumble backward or slash at something that wasn’t there. Symptoms of Annabeth’s mind-muddling energy. But she could only last for so long before she had to take a break; with the amount of concentration it took to keep that up, this ability was more draining than any of her others.

Jason was attacking from above: the air crackled and popped around him, his eyes were wild and electric, his hair standing on edge in a way that was almost comical and made him look like a mad scientist. He and Leo, who was yelling taunts and looking more like a manic bonfire than a human being, were doing the most damage, but fire just makes shadows uncertain and lightning can only kill them for a second. Shadows have never been able to hold out against pure sunlight, though, so the moment Will’s power--coming in the form of streaks of light so bright it was hard to look at--began wrapping around him, he started to crumple.

He writhed and twisted, and when his eyes caught on Will’s, his gut wrenched. The Wraith’s eyes were blown open wide, mouth letting out a silent scream. The sense of déjà vu was palpable.

Wrapped in sun rays and agony, The Wraith finally dispersed with a familiar sound like wind blowing through branches. He was the only person Will’s powers had this type of effect on. A serpent tattoo was coiling itself around his neck, wild and hungry, it was the last thing Will saw before he was gone completely, leaving the swirling light to look like some form of crazed tornado.

He’d be back. He always came back.

Will’s eyes rolled back in head and he slumped to the ground. Fighting shadows always had a way of draining him, especially on days like this one, where the sky was cloud-ridden and there wasn’t much sunlight to pull from anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

It was just another fight. Just another fight. Will kept telling himself that, but he didn’t really believe it and he wasn’t sure why.

He thought it might have something to do with The Wraith, who almost looked like a wild animal, snarling and throwing everything he had at anything who had the guts to get close to him. There was something about it, something so reckless and crazed that made Will’s stomach turn. He barely seemed to be noticing the cuts that were slashing their way through his arms, his legs, his… everything, really. They were everywhere.

He dragged his eyes away from The Wraith and swept them over the scene as a whole instead, taking in Percy, who was wildly slashing his blade, trying to make any sort of difference in this fight.

Will was at his side in less than a second, flashing over the ground at the speed of light, just a blur of something like sun rays. He caught Percy’s wrist, halting the progress of his sword through the air, halting the progress of the hurling tirade of water he’d been controlling. He barely gave pause before shooting forward again and hoping Percy got the message, skidding to a halt in front of The Wraith, rays of light spinning around him aimlessly until he lifted a hand, dodging out of the way of one of The Wraith’s shadow whips at the same moment he flicked his wrist, sending a dart of light straight toward it. It wrapped around the phantom appendage and tore it to shreds.

The scream that was dragged from The Wraith was one of pure agony, and it chilled Will to the core. He could’ve sworn he’d seen him grin.

He’d done this too many time to count. It usually wasn’t so easy, he didn’t always win. The Wraith never seemed to put up much of a fight anymore.

-

Will’s hands were covered in blood and the stench of it was invading his nose, his mouth. Metal and death. 

“Just hold on,” he was saying, hands pressing down on the guy’s abdomen, trying to stop the flow of blood from the wound there,  _“Just hold on.”_

The stranger reached out blindly, hands grasping feebly at his wrists and Will closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind, finding every shattered bit of tissue. He felt it in his own gut, the burning, twisting, indescribable pain. He wanted to throw up, the guy had been stabbed in his liver and even as Will started humming, building power, feeling light pulse through his hands, woven through with his own strength--ready to pull and repair and make whole again--he could feel him slipping. _No,_ he wanted to say, _no. You can pull through this, don’t give in._ Neither of them had time for that, though, so he started singing. It was low and sounded desperate, because he was.

He imagined tissue being pulled back together, blood vessels repaired. Light was spilling through his hands, twisting frantically, trying to get the job done. But the man was still slipping. It wasn’t enough.

The lyrics were a tangled, frantic mess now, words slipping over one another in his haste, punctuated by sobs and gasps. He could feel the guy’s heartbeat slowing like a second presence in his chest. Slowing and slowing even as his song became more and more rushed. And then it stopped altogether. Will felt him fade, heard the startled gasp slip from his lips and felt his fingers go limp around his wrist, but he still he kept singing even though he knew it was hopeless.

Will’s voice tapered off eventually and he rocked back on his heels. The mans’s jaw was slack and his eyes were wide open; Will reached out and brushed them closed; it left streaks of red across his eyelids. Losing someone, not being able to save them, always felt like losing a part of himself.

He looked upward suddenly, on some strange instinct, and found pitch black eyes locked onto his own from across the street. The Wraith’s mouth was twitching like he couldn’t decide what to do with it and his shadow whips were swaying feebly-- not lashing and flailing as they usually did.

 _You did this._ Will wanted to scream it at him–-even if he hadn’t done it directly-–wanted to tear him to shreds for good this time, but something caught at the edge of his vision, just the barest trace of movement. Will jerked his head toward it, and the Wraith a moment after him. Silence was already pouncing--a super from another base in Queens--and Will shot to his feet.

The Wraith could have torn her to shreds, and Will knew it, but he didn’t even try. He never _tried_ anymore, not really. He just made it look like he was trying. Lashing out, but not as fast or as vicious as he could. Dodging, but not quite enough, managing to be hit every time. You’d only be able to tell if you knew him as well as Will did, if you’d seen him fight as many times as Will had.

Will shot forward, to help Silence or The Wraith (Why was that even an option in his mind?), he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter, though. He caught a glimpse of The Wraith’s face the moment before he disappeared and it was hopeless and bloody.

He didn’t know what to think anymore.

-

“You said you didn’t want to hurt me,” Will said, hands twitching at his sides, wind tearing through his hair.

The Wraith laughed and this time it sounded _exactly_ like his father’s. Black lines were pelting across his face like rainfall. “Lumine… I don’t think you understand.” He took a single step forward and Will wanted to take a step back, but he stood his ground, pulling sunlight toward him instead, letting it swirl across his skin. A blinding sort of armor.

Will gulped, and then fought the urge to gulp again when the movement made The Wraith’s eyes catch on his throat. He couldn’t help but think that he was probably imagining tearing it open with his teeth. The blackness of his eyes made his expression unreadable. “Then enlighten me.”

His eyes flicked back up to Will’s, his mouth twitching upward in a small smile and Will found himself wishing that he could believe it was genuine. “That was bad joke, Lumine.”

Will laughed, once, a short, abrupt noise that made his body jerk. “It wasn’t meant to be joke, Wraith.”

The Wraith looked off to the side, hair lashing across his face, mouth still curled into a smirk. It was almost easy to believe that he was just the same as Will in that moment, just a boy pretending to be something more than he really was. But he was different. He destroyed. Will repaired. They weren’t alike in the slightest.

“That’s a shame.” His voice was almost lost to the wind.

“I thought it was a bad joke.”

The Wraith’s expression was slowly closing off again, Will hadn’t even realized that it had opened up. Something inside of him was trashing wildly, screaming at him to do _something_ to keep him from shutting off completely.

The Wraith’s hands curled into fists, “A bad joke is better than none at all.”

“True enough,” he said, and then after hesitating, after watching the word ‘no’ be scrawled across The Wraith’s cheek by an invisible hand, he said, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

He’d expected him to laugh, wanted so badly for him to laugh. Instead, The Wraith’s chest pulled in, pushed back out, air escaping through his teeth. His expression was ice again.

He said, “To get to the _other side,”_ sounding all too proud of himself,and lashed out, throwing Will sideways to the other end of the overpass.

Will hit hard, rolled several times, and hauled himself to his feet, rage coursing through his veins. “That,” he said, dragging light toward him, piling it into a tangible force in his hand, “was a bad joke, Wraith.”

The Wraith just laughed at him, shadow whips dancing around him. Will wasn’t sure if he was at all human in that moment. 


	3. Chapter 3

Will was startled awake by the urgent pinging noise that meant one of his team was calling in. He jerked upward, knocking the magazine that had been slumped over his eyes onto the ground, and hurriedly pulled his legs off of the desk to roll forward on his chair and punch the button to receive the call. Percy’s frantic voice filtered through, accompanied by several others talking anxiously in the background, “We need your help.”

Will let out an exasperated sigh, tapping his fingers worriedly on the surface of the desk, “You guys are supposed to be _off_ right now.” (Not that he really expected them to ever _really_ be off-duty.) He paused for a brief moment that said everything he didn’t-–I don’t want you getting into trouble without me there, I don’t like worrying about you all–-before saying, “I’ll be there right away, how bad is the injury?”

“Will… it’s not… Look, you’re at the Base, right?”

His fingers froze mid-way through drumming out another beat, poised above the countertop, “…Yeah…” There was only one reason anyone asked him to fight instead of heal, and it came in the form of black eyes and swirling shadows.

Percy blew out a breath, “The Wraith is headed your way.” Images flashed through Will’s head in quick succession: a lizard darting across a pale collarbone, ink leaking from eyes to cheeks like tears, lips forming some sort of confession turned apology, those same lips coiling into a smile that meant something more like a snarl. Will opened his mouth to protest, but Percy cut him off before he could get the chance, “I know how you feel about fighting, especially alone, but you’re the only one of us that can really take him down. Please, Solace.”

Both of them knew he would never refuse. “Okay. Where is he?”

The Wraith was, as it turned out, directly on top of the building that the hero’s base was buried under, not that he had any way of knowing it. Hopefully.

Will very unceremoniously hauled himself through the trap door and all but collapsed onto the roof, still panting from his frantic rush to pull on his suit and charge up forty flights of stairs, which is much faster than an elevator if you have the option of traveling at the same speed as the light rays you control, which Will did. He probably couldn’t do it again today, though. Once had drained him enough.

He scrambled to his feet and adjusted the black belt (stocked full of gauze and needles and thread; all of the odds and ends) that was slung around his hips, jutting his chin up in an attempt to look confident and well-put-together. You’d think having supernatural powers would buy you a little bit of grace, but you’d be wrong. Unless you were referring to The Wraith, who was laughing and running his tongue along his teeth in a way that made Will want to turn and bolt.

This boy, the one who was clad in a skin-tight black suit with too many straps to count, who’s eyes were black, emotionless pools, who looked more like a demon than a person, with his shadow whips lashing and writhing around him, was a completely different person from the one Will had seen months ago. That boy seemed to be dead now, even though some part of Will was telling him that he was still buried under there _somewhere._ He’d seen glimpses of him, brief little windows into the person buried beneath the black eyes.

“Lumine,” he breathed, and it sounded like taunt surrounded by a pretty smile. The Wraith’s hair whipped around his face, making him look like a wild thing. “I think you can help me _out.“_

Will’s hands clenched into fists, a pool of feeling expanding in his stomach, in his chest; The Wraith’s whips slowly unfurled, like a flower blooming, and then the roof erupted into movement.

Will lunged forward and a whip shot out, catching him by the wrist and yanking him forward. Will yanked back, but it didn’t do any good, and he was wrenched off of his feet and hurtled aside like a rag doll. The Wraith stalked forward, eyes narrowed as Will pulled himself to his feet slowly, still dazed, and wiped at his mouth, his orange and yellow sleeve coming away smeared red. “That move is getting _really old,”_ he muttered.

Once again, a whip snaked forward, so fast it was impossible to follow, but this time, Will was prepared, wrapped in a protective sphere of swirling light, and the shadow flinched back. Will thought he could hear it hissing and spitting. The Wraith’s face contorted for a moment.

Will launched himself forward, tackling The Wraith, who hit the ground with a yelp that was half surprise and half splitting pain. They rolled and grappled, The Wraith clawing and kicking and convulsing as rays swirled around them both, eating away at shadow whips and soaking into their skin, working opposite forces on both of them.

For a moment, Will thought he had won, and that was a mistake. The Wraith surged upward, fist knocking into Will’s jaw with enough force to make his mind blank out for a split second–-just long enough for him to lose all control of the light swirling through his veins-–and then The Wraith was crashing down on top of him, hands on his chest, face bent into a withering glower. Will’s mind was slipping away, darkness seeping from The Wraith’s hands into Will and making him feel nauseous, like his insides were being twisted and slowly pulled apart.

Ironically, it was one of The Wraith’s tattoos, raging across his cheek in the form of storm clouds eating away at a sun, that pulled Will back, kept him from giving in completely.

_I am light, I am light, I am light. I am stronger than shadow, I am stronger than shadow._

Slowly, slowly, Will drew sunlight to his hands, pulled it back in, let it become a part of him once more. Will’s freckles lit up like stars and Nico drew back with a hiss of pain, scrambling off of Will, whips of shadow jerking and flailing around him as he pulled himself to his feet, holding his hands out, prepared to fend off anything Will threw at him.

Will shakily got to his feet after him, his mind still foggy and clogged. There was something in The Wraith’s expression that he couldn’t quite pick apart. In its hazy state, his mind wondered over the realization that, for once, The Wraith was without his wicked black blade.

He took a step forward, faltered, shook his head like a dog shaking off its coat, and then continued with more purpose, throwing out rays of light randomly, driving The Wraith backward until his calves were pressed up against the short curb at the edge of the roof. His hands were still outstretched and there was that _expression,_ the one Will couldn’t put his finger on.

He halted, hand splayed out in front of him, rays swirling and spilling and sparking around his fingers. He could feel his energy depleting with every passing second–-probably would have collapsed already if the day wasn’t so bright. “Just surrender now, Wraith. I don’t want to have to do this.”

He just smiled, sneered, “That’s _cute,_ Sunshine,” and lashed out a shadow whip like a taunt.

Will hesitated, eyebrow furrowing, eyes pinned on the Wraith’s cheek where a caged raven was flapping desperately against its prison. That brief moment of distraction was enough for The Wraith to lunge forward, whips lashing out, and Will acted on instinct, throwing out his hand and from it, a baseball-sized sphere of light that soared through the air and exploded against the Wraith’s chest.

Will saw it in slow motion, just like that moment all that time ago, when he’d seen that _other_ side of Hades’ son: The Wraith’s eyes went wide with surprise and his head snapped backward, hair flying and framing his face like an explosion, hands thrown out to the side, trailing shadow. And then his eyes closed and his face split into a soft smile, the first real smile Will had ever see him wear. At the same moment, the raven on his cheek exploded from its cage, flapping wildly, ecstatic to be finally free. In his head, Will heard The Wraith’s desperate whisper, “I don’t want to hurt you.” His mind dredged up his desolate confession, “I meant that I don’t… have a life outside of this,” made him remember himself almost laughing in his face, the way he hadn’t even been _trying_ lately, and then his statement from barely minutes ago, “Lumine,” maybe not a taunt or a threat, but a sigh of relief, “I think you can help me _out.”_

Will’s stomach gave a violent heave, and before he could even process what he was doing, he surged forward after him, hands clawing the air desperately, trying to catch hold of him. (Supernatural powers might not buy you grace, but they definitely gift you with natural, instinctive stupidity.) His fingers snagged on the collar of his suit and Will had a split second of weightlessness to think, _O_ _h shit,_ before The Wraith’s limp body dragged them both over the edge.


	4. Chapter 4

Will's stomach was in his throat and his sensible thoughts were buried deep beneath everything else as he clutched at The Wraith like his flaccid form could somehow save them both.

Falling is all heart-wrenching terror, air whipping past and clawing viciously, and too much time to think, but not enough to do. It's shock and a heartbeat that seems to be frozen, breath being sucked out of lungs. Legs kicking and twitching and wheeling.

Lumine had a brief moment of realization that the boy he was clutching at might have already been dead and it wouldn't have mattered if he was still alive, anyway, because they were both going to be a large splat on the pavement in a matter of seconds. He was desperately clenching his eyes shut, his mind dredging up hopeless wishes that he could just float, be as light as light itself. So, that's what he clung to, what his frenzied mind stuck all of its will and strength into instead of the ground rushing up to meet them at dizzying, impossible speeds. 

_Images of rays bending and swirling and rushing around them, soaking into their skin until they were nothing but blinding, radiate, weightless light._

Will's whole world jerked, a force knocking him so hard in the ribs that he gasped and almost lost his grip on The Wraith, his eyes flying open and nearly popping out as he tried to suck oxygen back into his caving lungs. It was only when he finally had his breathing under control that his eyes focused and he realized what was happening, what he was seeing.

There, barely five feet below them, was the pavement, and they were _hovering_ above it. Weightless. In that tiny moment of utter disbelief, Will immediately lost whatever concentration he'd been clinging to in the back of his mind, and his stomach took another leap for his throat, coming out in the form of a strangled yelp as they plummeted the remaining distance.

They landed in a mass if limbs and torsos and knocked foreheads and pain. Will rolled off of The Wraith, groaning and trying to decide which part of him hurt the most.

He then remembered that he still wasn't entirely sure if The Wraith was even still _alive,_ so he forgot about his own injuries and heaved until he was in a sitting position. The Wraith was utterly motionless: jaw slack, hair splayed out around him, one arm bent at an unnatural angle. Will scooted forward and pressed his fingers to The Wraith's neck, searching for a pulse. His own heart was hammering in his chest and, for a moment, he couldn't find anything and it skipped a beat.

He moved his fingers an inch to the left and immediately slumped with relief when he found it: The Wraith's blood thrumming under his fingers, a steady assurance that he was still breathing.

"This might hurt a little, Wraith..." he muttered, setting his hands on his arm. He was already shaking with exertion. "You're lucky you're unconscious."

He reached out with his mind, humming quietly, feeling every break and crack in the bones of his arm and then imagining them righting themselves; drawing them back together, reconstructing and sealing torn muscle and tissue around it. It wasn't the most serious injury Will had ever healed, but with the amount of energy he'd already used and the lingering effect of The Wraith's shadows sucking at him, it certainly felt like it.

Will barely managed to pick him up, stumble into the Base, and drape him over the table before he collapsed into a chair next to it.

He'd only laid his head in his arms for a total of five seconds before someone burst in through the door, gasping for breath. _"Will,_ what happened?"

Will pulled his head up, giving Jason a look of utter disbelief, "Your presence would have been really helpful about ten seconds ago when I was _falling off a building."_

But Jason wasn't looking at him. Instead, his gaze was locked on what was laid out on the table behind him. (Or, rather, _who.)_

"Will," he said, warily, like if he rushed his words too much The Wraith might have jerked into consciousness and lashed out at him.

Will reached back slowly, put a hand on top of The Wraith's chest protectively (it was rising and falling shallowly, his breaths were warbled rasps of air). "Jason. Hear me out, alright? I don't think. . . I don't think that he's dangerous."

Jason's mouth dropped open and then closed slowly. He squeezed his eyes shut shook his head like he was trying to shake off Will's statement. It made his glasses fall down his nose and the way he pushed them back up spoke more of his exasperation than anything else. "Not _dangerous?"_ he repeated, "Will, you know that's _The Wraith,_  right? The same guy who's been trying to kill us for _years,_ the son of Hades?"

"Look, Jason, I know how it sounds, alright? I just. . . I need you to trust me on this one. And I need you to be here when he wakes up. . . Just in case things don't go the way I want them to." Will looked at him with a pleading expression, his mouth bent into a worried frown.

Jason deflated slowly, "Fine. But we're not letting him take a step out of this room. This is the _Base,_ Solace." He sounded like he was seriously regretting every single word, even as he said it.

Will brightened immediately, looking so relieved that it almost made it worth it anyway. "Thanks, Jace."

Jason nodded, kicking the door closed behind him and locking it. He lifted his hand up, speaking into the mic built into his watch, "Everything's good, guys. The Wraith has been deterred." He looked up and walked over to plop down in a seat next to Will. And then he glanced at The Wraith and pushed backward, his chair screeching against the tile.

Will laughed softly at him and turned his focus back to The Wraith. He looked peaceful, his head lolling to the side and hair falling across one eye. A cat was curled up beneath his left eye beneath the graceful crescent of his eyelashes, its flank rising and falling softly as it slept. The corner of Will's mouth twitched upwards at the sight.

"What makes you think that we can trust him?" Jason asked quietly, studying his expression.

Will considered how to answer that question. It was not just one thing in particular, but an accumulation of events that had slowly solidified into this _feeling_ in his gut. Will told him as much. Jason was still frowning, so he took a deep breath and started talking.

He started with the time he had spent in The Wraith's base, told Jason about how _human_ he looked when his eyes were not pitch black. He explained to him the raw desperation in his voice, the longing when he spoke of the outside world, his apparent fear of his father. He was just moving on to their recent encounters and how The Wraith never seemed to _fight_ anymore--not how he could, anyway--and that was when The Wraith jerked upward, gasping like fish that had been dragged out of water, and reached, floundered for Will--catching at his shirt--like he was fighting not to fall from the edge of a drop-off.

Will turned to him, his heart thrashing and his mind wheeling at the suddenness of it all, and The Wraith's fingers scrambled upward wildly until he was clutching his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his flesh. His eyes were half-crazed, frightened beyond all belief, but a deep, deep brown that somehow kept Will from panicking completely.

The Wraith's mouth was stuttering soundlessly, so much that Will almost thought he was trying to scream, but then he just choked, "Lumine," and it was so much worse.

"Wraith," Will said, his hands fluttering upward to grip his his wrists, "Wraith, _calm down._ It's okay, you're alright." His voice is shaky and frantic.

The Wraith was shaking his head, his breaths trembling and tattoos flooding across his cheeks, ugly and hopeless. Will saw the word 'no' several times. "Don't call me that," he choked. "Don't call me that. I'm not. . . I'm _not. . ."_

"What should I call you, then?" Will asked, trying to make his voice soothing despite the erratic beats of his heart. He brushed his fingers up and down The Wraith's forearms without really thinking about it at all.

There were tears dripping down his cheeks now, but his breathing was starting to even out and the tension was leeching out of his limbs. He was not so much gripping Will's face now as he was holding it. "Nico," he whispered, like a relief. "My name is Nico. Nico di Angelo."

Will nodded, staring at him. "Nico," he whispered, and watched the name be written over and over again. Slowly, it overtook his face like someone was writing lines in detention. On his left temple, _Wraith_ appeared in an ugly scrawl and then quickly got crossed out, scribbled over recklessly. 

"My name is Will," he told him quietly, because it only seemed right. "Will Solace. . ."

Nico nodded, a tiny smile pulling at his lips, "Will." It appeared too, written in precise cursive across the bridge of his nose. 

Will grinned, "Yeah." His voice sounded reverent, almost. Awed.

Everything slowly dripped away, all of the ink falling from his face like raindrops running down a window, and then it was just 'Solace'written on the edge of his jaw. Vines were curling around it, flowers blooming randomly over the edges of the letters.

There was no air left in Will's lungs. He wanted to take back every single time he ever tore this boy down, wanted to go back and offer him a way out. Wanted to have rescued him instead of ripping him apart time and time again.

"I'm so, so sorry. . ." he uttered.

Nico laughed quietly. "Me too, Will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Liv, for motivating me to actually finish this chapter aha (the board you made is just _so good._ It killed me and made me so happy.)
> 
> (sorry these are so short sigh)


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